Having now, as I hope, done with digressions and placed myself _en rapport_ with my readers, I will return to the principal personage of my story.
The next time I met Mr. Fortescue was at Harlow Bush. He was quite as well mounted as before, and accompanied, as usual, by Rawlings and two grooms with their second horses. On this occasion Mr. Fortescue did not hold himself nearly so much aloof as he had done at Matching Green, perhaps because he was more noticed; and he was doubtless more noticed because the fame of his wealth and the lavish use he made of it were becoming more widely known. The master gave him a friendly nod and a gracious smile, and expressed a hope that we should have good sport; the secretary engaged him in a lively conversation; the hunt servants touched their caps to him with profound respect, and he received greetings from most of the swells.
We drew Latton, found in a few minutes, and had a "real good thing," a grand run of nearly two hours, with only one or two trifling checks, which, as I am not writing a hunting story, I need not describe any further than to remark that we had plenty of fencing, a good deal of hard galloping, a kill in the open, and that of the sixty or seventy who were present at the start only about a score were up at the finish. Among the fortunate few were Mr. Fortescue and his pilot. During the latter part of the run we rode side by side, and pulled up at the same instant, just as the fox was rolled over.
"A very fine run," I took the liberty to observe, as I stepped from my saddle and slackened my horse's girths. "It will be a long time before we have a better."
"Two hours and two minutes," shouted the secretary, looking at his watch, "and straight. We are in the heart of the Puckeridge country."
"Yes," said Mr. Fortescue, quietly, "it was a very enjoyable run. You like hunting, I think?"
"Like it! I should rather think I do. I regard fox-hunting as the very prince of sports. It is manly, health-giving, and exhilarating. There is no sport in which so many participate and so heartily enjoy. We enjoy it, the horses enjoy it, and the hounds enjoy it."
"Oh, the fox! Well, the fox is allowed to exist on condition of being occasionally hunted. If there were no hunting there would be no foxes. On the whole, I regard him as a fortunate and rather pampered individual; and I have even heard it said that he rather likes being hunted than otherwise."